Hat Trick
by Javanyet
Summary: It's time for the much-loathed "Picking of the Hats" to match wardrobe for the season. The resulting bad vibes are usually legendary. But this time the Associate Producer has something different up her sleeve...


"Okay, we've called you in to make an important decision about next season's look," Bonnie announced to the guys.

"But we've been fitted and tailored and draped and fringed half to death," Davy complained.

In fact they were pretty happy with what Genie and Bonnie had come up with. Out with the stupid matching shirts and freakishly wide belts, out with JC Penney stuff entirely, except in gig scenes. Gotta keep the sponsors happy.

"So what's left?" Peter quipped. "Beaded underpants?"

As if on cue one of the wardrobe girls toted in a box full of knitted wool hats, every color of the rainbow, some with four buttons stitched in front, some without. But every one of them the trademark that was loathed by Mike, and verbally abused by the others. She dropped the box quickly and rushed out the door.

"Oh, _crap_," Micky shook his head and eyed Mike warily. "You couldn't wait and do this later? Like at home, where you can duke it out in private?"

Everyone remembered the confrontation last season, the war of icy looks and sharp words between Bonnie and Mike at wardrobe call that ended in stony silence and almost derailed their currently pretty stable relationship.

"Nope, this is a community effort," Bonnie insisted. "I need you all to pick out a couple of colors that you think'll go with the palette that Genie figured out for you, and drop 'em here." She indicated a large metal tray sitting on the cutting table.

They complied with little enthusiasm, dropping blues, greens, a couple of maroons, on the tray, avoiding Mike's death-ray stare as they did so.

"You too, Nesmith," Bonnie directed. "Don't give me that look, just do it."

Grumbling darkly, Mike indiscriminately grabbed a fistful of the hated headgear and dumped them on the tray.

Bonnie turned to Davy, Peter, and Micky. "Thanks guys, you can take off. Nesmith, you hang out for a few."

As they left Micky could be heard to mutter, "Can you believe she's gonna make him try them all on? Jeez, wonder what he did to piss her off _this_ time?"

The unlikely pair weren't known to be "mercurial", as Mike himself was often described in the press. However, the unavoidable disagreements that sometimes erupted from the opposition between Bonnie's production responsibilities and Mike's eternal battle for artistic purity could lead to some impressive bursts of fireworks. Always tamped down in the end, they were still pretty amazing to see as they happened.

Once they were alone again, Mike remained standing in the clenched posture that indicated he was _not_ pleased and not intending to _be_ pleased. The only thing missing was the shades he'd left on the conference table after the script read-through. His narrow-eyed glare more than took up the slack.

"If you think I'm gonna put that shit on my head before somebody calls 'action' you have been breathing in too much PTB fairy dust," he growled.

No matter that they'd managed to find common ground between their relative positions on the show, there were some things on which he would not bend, and she could be counted on to do the same. When either one was forced by circumstances to give in, it was always grudgingly. Mike knew the Hat Battle was something he'd never win, but he never went down without a fight.

"I mean it, Morris. Put 'em away."

"Oh, believe me, I intend to." She continued to talk over her shoulder as she rummaged in a nearby storage chest for something. "I know that _you_ know we've been trying to change a little, expand the audience, but keep _some_ familiar stuff…" She found what she was looking for, but Mike couldn't see what was in her hand as she went back to the tray full of wool hats. "Well, we decided what to get rid of."

Her back was to him, so he couldn't see what was happening. But he could smell smoke, and it was nasty.

"What the hell?"

Bonnie stepped away and pointed to the tray where a merry blaze was dancing, fed by the dozen or so multicolored acrylic wool hats and the lit match book she'd just dropped in the center of the pile.

"Congratulations, Wool Hat, this season except for gig scenes you will be Wool Hatless."

Mike didn't know whether to kiss Bonnie, or yell for someone to haul her away because she'd completely flipped out. He split the difference and asked cautiously, "So… not that this isn't outtasight and all, but don't you think it's kinda weird that Bob didn't wanna just throw 'em away?"

She laughed then and slid up close to him, slipping her arms around his waist and hooking her fingers through his belt loops.

"Whaddaya crazy? The barbecue was _my_ idea."

He looked down at her and hugged her closer, coughing a little, smiling a lot, and extremely confused. "_Your _idea?"

She grimaced and jerked her head toward the pyre.

"I _hate_ those goddamn hats. Dumpster's too good for 'em."

He threw his head back and hooted with laughter, then looked down again with his "smouldering eyes" expression and told her in a honeyed drawl, "Mama, you are the PTB chick of my dreams."

She replied with a smug nod.

"Damn straight, Nesmith. Now gimme some sugar, and make it snappy…we gotta find some water before the joint burns down."

* * *

**PTB - Powers That Be, aka Studio Establishment**


End file.
